


So why won’t you stay, just long enough to explain.

by DarlingLo



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Ghost Rhett, Ghosts, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, I’m so sorry you guys, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingLo/pseuds/DarlingLo
Summary: The world opened up and swallowed Rhett whole. And now Link gets to sit there and watch as it continues to spin without him.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 31
Kudos: 32





	1. It’s too Loud in Here

**Author's Note:**

> I am already sorry but i swear it gets better okay guys?
> 
> Also thank you thank you a billion times thank you to out_of_nowhere for indulging my ridiculous need to make myself cry. You are the best thing the earth has ever coughed up.✨

It’s strange, when you're asked to talk about someone you love. 

What do you even say? Do you talk about how they managed to light up the entire world with a smile? Do you describe how their eyes always twinkled with some kind of mischief and how you spent your life on your toes? Do you tell them of how they spoke with their entire body, so their hands gesticulated around their head with their passionate words and sucked you into whatever they were saying like it was the goddamn gospel?

_How those large hands felt when they landed on you, when they squeezed your shoulders or gently held your chin as they turned your face to look at him. How when he spoke so ardently of his hopes and dreams and his ideas and thoughts, how his eyes blazed with a fire that ignited the edge of your soul. How what he was saying was the gospel because God wasn’t guaranteed but he was, so real and warm and always by your side._

Can you manage to put into words what he meant to you? Can you choke out how much you loved him? The type of burning, searing, unnameable love that you were always so scared to put voice to, were even nervous to look at head on? 

_How your face flushed when his tired eyes found your face in the early mornings and brightened like you were the only thing he wanted to see. How that tired visage that two seconds ago showed every day of these last 42 years melted to reveal the young, excited face that always smiled, just like this, at the very sight of you. How you saw him yesterday, and the day before, and the day before and he’s never not just as thrilled to see you slouch into the office._

Can you say how there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that you could have been without him? Can you speak about how he shaped you your entire life? How you grew up not only with him, but for him? How he was the sun that you revolved around, that he was the source of approval you always found yourself seeking? That his smile was the reason yours even existed?

_How when he said he would die for you, that you knew, in the very marrow of your bones, that you would do the same. In half a heartbeat, you’d gladly leave the world forever if it meant that it wouldn’t take him._

It’s strange, because when you’re asked to speak about someone you love, there’s nothing specific you can say or think of. 

Link certainly can’t. There’s nothing he can say about Rhett that doesn’t border on dangerous, that doesn’t make the ends of his fingers numb with the same deranged anxiety that has plagued him his entire life. 

He’s breathing too loudly.

It’s an ugly juxtaposition, the overwhelming desire to do nothing but talk about Rhett, what he said that day or his opinion on whatever was going on, and the need to clutch that burning, soul consuming love close to his heart and threaten to cut off the hand that dared to reach for it.

But even now, there isn’t anything he can do. His hands are a sweaty mess, staining the legs of his charcoal grey suit when he rubs his hands over his thighs methodically, like the feeling can ground him somehow.

Like his feet can magically reattach to the earth and things will begin to feel solid again.

The music is too loud, and the sound of it sets Link’s teeth on edge and he wants to fidget, wants to squirm with the over-stimulation of it all because he’s nervous, goddammit. And he doesn’t deal with nerves in the best of times and now he has to go up there and talk about Rhett and Rhett isn’t here and only Rhett would have been able to calm this mess, would have leaned over to whisper something outlandish and ridiculous that would drag Link back down to earth and hold him there with steady hands, would have been able to say something to make it stop-

People always looked at him like the half of their duo that could talk to people, that Rhett was the one who needed him to push him into being social. But without Rhett to carry the other half of the conversation, to finish his sentences for him, words completely failed him.

His throat closes up again and that certainly puts a damper on the whole breathing right situation. As the air thins around him his head wildly spins around, his wife next to him is staring up at the casket with the same flat, blank expression as everybody else. He wants to call out to her to reach over for her hand, but her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. Her white knuckles stand out in Link’s sparkly vision and he just knows that she’s not in the mood for him and all of his nonsense.

For some reason, Christy’s expressionless face drags up more of the rage that’s burning deep inside his gut. He wants to tug at her arm, force her to look at him and scream, cry and sob and ask how is she not devastated by this the way he is.

She isn’t dying the way Link is because she didn’t love Rhett the way he did, no one did, no one in this earth held Rhett the same, fierce and gentle way that Link cradled Rhett close to his heart. 

She lost a friend, Link has lost his heartbeat.

He can’t look at Christy anymore, and instead he swallows whatever is trying to claw up his throat and looks back forward, back to the overwhelming abundance of flowers and banners, of overly bright colors and scents that threaten to overwhelm Link where he sits.

And it’s all suddenly too much. His suit is too restrictive, he and his wife are sitting too many inches apart, the room is too bright and the air is just a fraction too warm. The smell of flowers is slightly overwhelming and there’s a migraine flirting with the back of Link’s temples. 

Rhett is dead. 

And it seems like everyone else’s world has continued to spin.

Except Link’s.

Jessie stands tall at the podium beside the box where her husband sleeps, head held high and straight, speaking words that Link can’t hear, being spoken in her melodic voice like recited poetry. Her face is controlled, her lipstick compliments her hair perfectly, her dress is sharp and smart, and her gaze flat, carefully leveled a few inches over the heads of the crowd gathered in her husband's name.

It’s wrong, it’s all different flavors of wrong, and yet Link wants nothing more on this earth to make her stop talking, to stop with her "my husband this" and and "my husband that," because to Link’s ears it sounds like nothing but the same monotonous drone of every funeral he’s ever been to. And this isn’t just another funeral. It’s Rhett, for fucks sake. 

The world opened up and swallowed Rhett whole. And his wife, of all people in the world, is up there in front of his casket speaking as calmly as though it was just your average Wednesday. 

The rage is back, a sick feeling that makes the coffee Link sipped this morning burn an acidic trail as it makes a valiant effort to re-emerge in his esophagus. 

Nothing can ground him now, he knows this deep in his soul. Nothing is right anymore, nothing will ever be right again. The world stopped spinning that horrid, ugly morning and everything went flying by his head a million miles an hour, and nothing will ever be okay again, and nothing will ever feel normal because, because Rhett is, Rhett is-

_ “Rhett is sorry, but that’s all the time we have,” Link says, leaning over the passenger seat to cut Rhett off physically with his arm, effectively shutting him up in the middle of whatever dirty innuendo he was in the middle of. “We’ll see you guys soon.” _

_ Rhett laughs easily, letting Link cut off the video and even letting his fingers drift along the sides ridge of Link’s wrists as he pulls his hand back into his own personal space.  _

_ Link watches that long fingered hand retreat and rest back on his lap as he places his palm back along the bottom of the steering wheel. He misses their warmth immediately, but makes no move to reach out for them. _

_ Because that’s their dynamic, isn’t it? Locked and trapped in a thirty plus years long game of chicken that neither of them wants or is willing to lose.  _

_ Losing would mean admitting that there was something there to lose. Would mean admitting that Rhett was something more to him than just a best friend. Would mean admitting to that nagging feeling that Link had gotten so good at ignoring these last few years, something delicate and wild that Link wasn’t even sure he wanted to look at himself yet. _

_ “I wasn’t done,” Rhett says under his breath, the chuckle belying the annoying tone he gives the statement. _

_ “Yes you were,” Link says, playing along as the put upon grump, but letting the grin tug up the side of his face as he switches lanes. _

_ “Oh I’m sorry you’re above my dirty jokes.” Rhett raises his hands in surrender, eyes rolling exaggeratedly. _

_ “I’m not, I’m just-“ _

_ “A good Christian boy-“ _

_ “Shaddup!” Someone beside them honks loudly and Link swears a blue streak as he rights the steering wheel, completely unaware he had been drifting. He scowls as he straightens the wheel. “Quit distracting me man.” _

_ “No one told you to do the vlog driving.” Rhett says, easy smile still in place and eyes watching Link fondly.  _

_ “Actually they did, you did," Link counters, sending a glare to his best friend. “Ya know I can’t drive if I’m distracted.” _

_ Rhett seems to let him have this, sitting straight in the passenger seat and shoving his hands between his thighs, looking every inch an obedient schoolboy causing no trouble whatsoever, no sir. _

_ “You’re the worst,” Link grumbles, eyes still caught on Rhett’s long thighs in his tight black jeans. He flicks his gaze up to the mirror, then forces them straight ahead. “Who even let me drive?” _

_ “You always get to drive, I wanna this time,” Rhett parrots his earlier words back to him, voice pitched high and nasally. _

_ “Meh meh meh meh meh,” Link snaps back, ears burning and grin splitting his face as Rhett let’s out a bark of uproarious laughter.  _

_ “Oh Link,” Rhett clasps a hand around Link’s thigh, his hand circling the circumference of his leg entirely and Link swallows heavily as it squeezes. “See this is why I hang out with you man, where else am I gonna get this level of entertainment.” _

_ “Well I’m glad you’ve got an answer, cause I ain’t any closer to figuring out why I deal with you.” Link let’s his hand drift down to pat Rhett’s once, resisting the urge to let his fingers curl around it. His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. _

_ "Mmhmm." Rhett lets it slide easily enough, letting his hand linger on Link's thigh as he scrolls absently through his phone, content and ease oozing out of him. Link finds it difficult to focus on the road, every iota of his being laser focused on the heat of Rhett's hand, just ever so casually resting on his thigh like he owned it. He wants to say something, to shake it off or call attention to it because how dare Rhett let him sit there and be the only one uncomfortable.  _

_ It's rude, honestly. _

_ He hates that he's even uncomfortable, that something as innocuous as Rhett letting his palm rest on his leg was enough to make the back of his teeth itch with anxiety. Link think's back to the days, year ago, when Rhett existed behind a Plexiglas wall, completely transparent but totally inaccessible, and Link would orbit him with something that tasted like desperation, living and breathing for a shred of affection from his best friend to confirm that this friendship wasn't as painfully one sided as it felt sometimes.  _

_ Therapy had done wonders for Rhett. Years of painful growth and self reflection transformed Rhett before his very eyes. He was softer now, sweeter, more open in his words and affection.  _

_ And something had started, something that Link had no idea how to handle. _

_ Rhett started looking at him. Really looking at him, almost like he was staring right through him with such honest, and open affection in his wide green eyes. Started touching him with careful hands, soft touches that he would vehemently avoid for years and years. It shook Link to his very core, and were he ten years younger he would have soaked up Rhett's attention like a sponge. _

_ But now, after years and years of training himself out of wanting it, of avoiding the closeness for the sake of Rhett's comfort, now it just sends a roll of anxiety through his belly. _

_ And he was trying, really he was. He was trying to unlearn all the fear and trepidation that had been instilled in them both by the lingering shadow of their upbringing. He was trying to learn to love Rhett the way he wanted, the way he needed.  _

_ He chews on the inside of his cheek and presses his foot a little harder on the gas, eyes darting back up to the rear view mirror. He passes the car on his right, and nearly veers into the next lane when Rhett lets out a soft giggle to his right. He was so damn worked up he'd gone and completely managed to tune out the fact that Rhett was still there. _

_ "Whatchu laughin' at?" he asks, risking a look over at Rhett. Rhett doesn't look up, just keeps scrolling. _

_ "Nonsense on the internet," he says softly, his fingertips picking up a gentle drumming on the inside of Link's thigh. Link's heartbeat picks up to match Rhett's cadence. "Nothin' we know anything about." _

_ Link snorts loudly, shoving up his glasses. "Oh no, of course not. We're both sane, sensible adults." _

_ Rhett laughs at that, full and hearty and the hand still holding Link's thigh captive squeezes again and Link looks, and keeps looking.  _

_ The late afternoon sun is low and orange and it bathes the golden curls spilling on to Rhett's shoulders in an ethereal light, his eyes scrunched with mirth and his freckles standing out against the pink flush of his skin. He looks so young, so happy and free that Link's just stuck, stuck like he always is on every laugh line, every wrinkle blooming on his face and the way his laugh makes Link feel like he's weightless, floating along next to him, caught in orbit. _

_ Rhett stops laughing and sends a smile across the console and Link sends it back, one hand releasing the steering wheel to reach down for Rhett's hand to hold it- _

_ -And then...nothing. _

_ Dark, empty, nothing. _

_ And then- _

_ "Hey, this one's okay! Hey buddy, you alright?" _

_ The words swim through the fog surrounding Link's head and he's suddenly very aware that he's in a lot of pain. He cracks one blurry eye open to see a faceless paramedic over him. His tongue feels swollen, his throat is raw, and there's something that tastes like blood in his mouth. _

_ Sunlight, laughter, Rhett- _

_ Where's Rhett- _

_ "Where's Rhett?" It sounds like he's drunk, the words coming out sloppy and slurred together. _

_ The faceless paramedic ignores him. More people fall from the sky to appear around Link, blocking his vision so all he can see is the sky. His head is spinning. There's panic building up in him now, suffocating and thick and all he wants is Rhett- _

_ He starts struggling when the paramedics start to lift him. Lifting means they're taking him away, and away means away from Rhett and he can't, he needs him where is he- _

_ He gets away from them long enough to just turn his head, to see the wreckage of their SUV that he'd been pulled out of. There isn't much left of it, the entirety of the front crumpled in on itself and smoking lightly. _

_ A flash of color catches Link's eyes, and his blurry vision lands on the sight of Rhett's arm, dangling almost carelessly out of the passenger side window, blood dripping delicately off the fingertips that not minutes ago were resting on Link's thigh. _

_ There's a sound, a siren maybe? It's loud and harsh and ugly and it takes Link a beat to realize that it's coming from his own throat; he's screaming. He's screaming and writhing in the arms of the paramedic and the pain in his limbs is gone now, completely forgotten because Rhett is still in the car and Rhett is hurt and why aren't they helping him? He's fine! He's fine and Rhett needs to get out of the car because he's bleeding and please, go help him- _

_ He's still screaming when his vision blacks out. _

Jessie's done speaking. As grating as her voice has been on Link's ears this entire time he's suddenly devastated all over again that Jessie has said her piece, because now it's his turn to go up in front of everyone who ever knew Rhett and open his mouth.

The fact that they decided his place in Rhett's life was directly behind his wife isn't lost on Link. He knows that it's true, and it's right, but he can't shake the voice deep in his head, the one that was the loudest on Rhett's wedding day. That he and Rhett had pledged themselves to each other years before he had even met Jessie. 

_Not like it mattered anymore._

The walk to the podium fades from Link's memory the second he reaches the podium. He stares out into the sea of blank faces and closes his eyes, tilting his head back as he breathes in deeply, sending a distress cry to the heavens to please, don't make him do this-

His eyes fall from the ceiling where his fruitless prayers went unheard to land on the second row, where his and Rhett’s children are seated alongside one another, a blur of red eyes and swollen noses. His children watch him with the same expressions they use to watch him do anything, the mild curiosity combined with the slight wariness that their clumsy father was going to do something to injure or embarrass himself.

He doesn’t blame them. He’s not doing too well.

Then his gaze drifts past Lily’s down turned gaze to Rhett’s children directly beside her. Shepherd is curled into her side and his head tilted and the breath catches in Link’s throat when he lifts his head up to meet Link’s eyes.

And then the world ends all over again because all he can see is Rhett at 14 years old, his youngest son and dead ringer with his bright eyes and blonde curls. Locke sits beside him, his face just as blank and carefully composed as everyone else’s, his sharp jawline and sunken eyes hearkening back to Rhett’s tired expressions during their all-nighters in college.

Link chokes, the words he had dying fast and bloody in the face of Rhett’s children, living monuments to the fact that Rhett existed and doesn’t anymore. 

He turns around, hiding his face in his shoulder as the organ music swells, eyes casting behind him, looking for the support he’s always had when the world was too much and Rhett was there with an encouraging grin. 

He catches sight of the casket, shiny and bright in the light and he knows now why he’s been avoiding looking at it closely and the sight of it makes his head spin.

It’s normal sized, normal looking. Just your average casket.

It’s closed, of course. Whatever Link doesn’t remember about the accident, he does remember that his friend is in no shape to show his face for the last time.

But the problem is that Rhett… Rhett’s isn’t average sized. He was larger than life, tall and towering and there is no way on earth that Rhett is in there comfortable. The overly logical part of Link’s brain goes into overdrive and the only thing he can think of is that either there isn’t enough left of Rhett to fill the casket, or he’s bent and broken and twisted in the box and he can’t handle either one.

Words never make it out of his mouth. Grief and panic and the last glimpse of Rhett’s blood soaked hand dangling out of the window snatch them from his throat the Link spins away from the podium, doing everything he can to not look back at the casket as he throws up all over his shoes. 


	2. You’re Not Even Supposed to be Here

“ _Rhett sit down!” Link reaches a hand out to grasp at the leg of Rhett’s jeans, pulling his hand back at the last second._

_ Rhett laughs, tugging away from Link as he stands, the truck moving unsteadily beneath them. “Chill out, man.” _

_ Link clings tighter to the edge of the truck, nerves climbing as Rhett stumbles. “Rhett please.” _

_ “Linkster, hey!” Rhett spins around, eyes wide and shiny and the grin stretched too tight over his face. It makes Link’s stomach flip. “You need to relax, bo.” _

_ “You’re gonna fall!” Link says, all pretense of trying to be cool completely out the window.  _

_ This is, by far, of all the stupid things he’s let Rhett talk him into, the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. They’re still young, fresh out of high school, and in the back of their friend's truck.  _

_ And Link knows it’s just the backroads, that no one is gonna drive by them but he also saw their friend drink far more than he should have, enough to set off the alarm bells in his head but not enough to make him speak up when they suggested a drive to see the fireflies.  _

_ There wasn’t enough room in the truck. He and Rhett, the duo they were always seen as, were delegated to the bed. Link got more and more nervous as they picked up speed, the flash of the fireflies growing blurrier and blurrier as the beer in his system matched the speed of the truck. _

_ Rhett drank more than he did. As usual. Which is why Link is terrified but also not at all surprised to see Rhett standing at the end of the bed of the truck, hands outstretched and eyes wild.  _

_ “Didn’t I tell ya?” Rhett screams out, his hands in the air and the wind tugging at his loose t-shirt. Link's palms sweat, watching him stand in the back of the pickup, they’re going too fast, Rhett could fall, he could get hurt.  _

_ “I’m invincible!” Rhett downs the rest of the bottle in his hand. “Never gonna die!” _

_ And in the moment, Link could buy it, with Rhett looking tall and confident, half drunk in the starlight, standing strong in the wind as the truck barrels down the empty road. _

_ Never gonna die, never gonna leave him.  _

_ Then they hit the pothole. _

_ And Link shrieks and Rhett lets out a blue streak as the floor beneath his feet shifts and he stumbles, falling flat on his ass next to Link, the empty bottle clattering away from his hand. Link catches him, Rhett’s weight shoving the air from his lungs and the back of the spare tire digging into his shoulder as they fall.  _

_ Rhett’s still laughing.  _

_ Link is pissed. _

_ “I fuckin’ told you!” Link shoves Rhett off of him, hands still trembling. “You’re gonna fall! You never listen to me!” _

_ Rhett’s still laughing, the alcohol coloring his cheeks pink. He settles on the floor of the truck bed, letting his head roll to the side to fix Link with his gaze. “I listen," he slurs out. _

_ The fireflies come out of the darkness.  _

_ “No you don’t!” Link rolls his eyes, still keyed up on adrenaline. “You-“ _

_ “Link,” Rhett cuts him off. “You worry too much.” _

_ Link swallows whatever else he was gonna yell at Rhett and just… sits there, watching Rhett smile at him upside down on the truck bed. He takes another sip of whatever he was drinking, turning his face away and letting the wind tug his hair away from his face and make his eyes water. He watches the fireflies dance on the edges of his vision. _

There’s still puke on his shoes.

It’s literally all he can focus on as the droning voice of the pastor drones on in the background. He’s still talking about Rhett, something about ashes to ashes and all that lovely bullshit. It’s too bright, the sun hitting his eyes at just the right angle to drag up another headache as he stands with his family in the graveyard.

A fucking graveyard.

It’s too sunny. The cynic inside Link fumes at the universes further attempts to fuck with him. It shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t be warm and breezy with the sky looking ever so fucking blue. It should be storming, the wind should be howling and rain should fall in torrents and the sky should scream with thunder. The earth should be mourning Rhett’s death along with them.

Link wrinkles his eyes against the glare. The bruise on his forehead from where he got bitch slapped by the airbag throbs.

When Ben died, he and Rhett had gone to visit him, traveling back to North Carolina during the show's hiatus. The ride there had been mostly silent, Rhett sitting next to him on the plane with his eyes shut, and his mouth just as shut on the drive to the cemetery. They had sat in the old meeting spot, staring at Ben’s gravestone in silence. 

_“Weird, isn’t it?” Rhett asks, eyes still staring straight ahead, arms locked around his knees._

_They’re sitting on the damp grass, their skin cooling as the sun sinks lower behind the trees. Link sits criss-cross applesauce, head tilted to watch Rhett’s emotionless face as he stares at the setting sun sparkling off the gravestones._

_“What’s weird, Rhett?” Link plays along, knowing Rhett just wants a sounding board to broadcast the emotions he swears he doesn’t have._

_“Death? I dunno.” Rhett runs a hand through his short curls, but doesn’t look at Link. “I mean, we all die eventually, I just don’t get how it’s such a shock to everyone when it happens.”_

_Link has no idea where he’s going with this. “You weren’t shocked about Ben?” he asks softly, not sure what to say when Rhett gets into these introspective moods. He chances a glance at Rhett’s face, and is shocked to see that Rhett’s eyes are shiny._

_He wants to reach out, to offer Rhett some sort of comfort. But Rhett’s been snappy, lately. He’s been shoving off Link’s attempts at bonding, and Link doesn’t think placing his hand on Rhett’s leg would go over as well as he wants it to._

_“No I was,” Rhett says and swallows heavily. “But I wasn’t supposed to be, he was sick.” A muscle tightens in Rhett’s jaw. “That’s just it. Why was I shocked? Death comes for us all eventually. Who cares when it does?”_

_Link feels tears prick beneath his own eyelids, but blinks them away, feeling how much Rhett needs him to be the rock for once. “I dunno, Rhett.”_

_He watches as Rhett violently composes himself, turning his head away to wipe the tears he thinks Link didn’t see. “Me neither, brother. Guess death really has no meaning_.”

All Link can think of as he stands at the edge of Rhett’s eternal resting place are the words that Rhett has spoken that day so many years ago. He hopes he was wrong.

_Death needs to have meaning. Otherwise Rhett's leaving is just...that._

They begin to lower the shiny box that’s too short for Rhett into the ground. The mechanical squeaks of the levers and weights send grating shivers down Link’s back, despite the sun beating down at his neck. 

Jessie is crying really loud. Link feels bad for being annoyed by the noise. He tries to focus on watching the casket disappear into the ground. 

Rhett would have hated being buried. He always used to talk about what else was out there, what else was waiting for them beyond all this. What other planes of existence there was for them-

_Them. Always them. Like Rhett didn’t want the promise of otherworldly cosmic miracles if Link wasn’t there to bear witness as well_.

-To explore. The thought of that giant personality trapped six feet beneath heavy dirt and earth makes Link’s teeth itch. 

He wants Rhett to be spread over the plot of land where the redwoods he planted are still growing, to put Rhett somewhere he can see the sun. He wants to put Rhett in a fucking rocket and send him to that star that Rhett likes to point out the few times a year they can see it. He wants to know that part of him is still living on, instead of just fertilizing the patch of grass on the tombstone. 

_His golden boy_.

Link runs a hand through his hair. It’s hot out here. 

The crying reaches a grating pitch in Link’s ears and he grinds his teeth together. The searing anger he felt back in the chapel is back now, climbing up the pant legs of his suit to wind its way around his sweaty chest. He looks around. It's fairly crowded, he wants to sneak away and just- breathe something else besides the heavy coat of grief that's sitting in a cement slab three inches over their heads.

He never actually got around to saying anything at the wake. After he threw up his knees kinda gave out and he ended up smacking his forehead on the podium on the way down. 

Things were kinda fuzzy until he sat back down, head pounding and the whispering dying down. He's halfway grateful that he didn't have to say anything, hiding behind the mask of grief stricken best friend too overwhelmed to say anything. To be completely honest, Link still has no clue what he would have even said.

Because, again, there really isn't anything real that he could have said, past the banality of cookie cutter prose along the vein of 'he was a wonderful person who will be missed greatly.'

He thinks back to those morose times, those necessary times, when they would sit down and talk about what would become of Mythical, what would become of their families in the unfortunate loss of one, or both, of them. Those sessions would leave them both shaken, and slightly clingy for the rest of the day.

Link inwardly cringes, he was always weirdly happy, okay- no- not happy, some other emotion he didn't know how to name when Rhett would follow him from room to room, would touch him more than was honestly warranted, would laugh easier at everything Link said. 

Like Rhett was feeling even a fraction of whatever is consuming Link from the feet up. The frustrating emptiness of something sharp and ugly that's growing, and growing, and threatening to swallow him whole. 

But seriously, what the fuck was he even supposed to do, what was he even supposed to say? What did they expect him to do? Talk about how they were supposed to grow old together? How they never said it out loud, but how they were supposed to die together? How when they made that stupid promise when they were fourteen to stay together forever and how his palm itches with the scar of that promise and the only person who would even understand that itch can never speak to him again?

Talk about how he can't explain why the anger is back because this son of a bitch just couldn’t wait for him?

Rhett was always one step ahead of him. Always taller, always faster, always leaps and bounds ahead of him but at the very least casting a shadow to shield the glaring heat of the sun in his eyes. Link had spent his entire life living in relative comfort in the resentment that came with constantly being second place. He liked having Rhett there to blaze the trail for him, to take his hand and guide him through everything he had already lived, to be there and tell him that _it's easy, Linkster, you can do it_ -

But this? Death? That's just so fucking unfair. How could Rhett do this to him?

No no. No anger, Neal. That's an unhealthy line of thinking.

Link exhales through his nose. It sounds louder than normal. He's being childish. He knows this, he can literally feel himself reverting back to the seven year old who stomped his foot when Rhett beat him in a foot race or a card game and shrilly cried out that _you’re cheating Rhett_! 

It does feel like being cheated. In more ways than one. Call him melodramatic if you want, but Link feels... feels like... missing a limb is the term you’d usually go for isn’t it? That’s how it goes? Like they’re missing an arm?

It feels a little worse than that. Okay fine, no it feels worse than that. Way worse than that. It feels like Link has been hallowed oht entirely. Like he’s completely ceased to exist past the vague, blurry outline of his sentient being. 

Someone, one of the ushers he’s guessing, tosses a shovelful of dirt into the hole Rhett has sunken into. 

Another memory assaults Link, as unwarranted and unwelcome as ever.

_Jolly Ranchers._

_“I feel like it won’t be a real burial unless ya cover ma face.” Rhett grins at him with his sparkly eyes, nerves coloring his expression. “And I’m gonna keep my mouth open.”_

_“Well I got plenty of these.” Link smiles, pumped with adrenaline at not being the one being punished for a change. “Like buckets full of Jolly Ranchers”_

_“Be careful with those, like don’t pour from a high-there’s a lot of weight.” Rhett looks more nervous now, eyes darting around Links face as he looks up at him. “You gotta-oh!”_

_“Does that hurt?” Link laughs, pouring jolly ranchers over Rhett’s prone figure with abandon, not really caring where they landed._

_“Oh, yeah, a little bit-" Rhett keeps smiling, though it’s a little strained now, and Link can see the nervousness shining through his facade. He knows Rhett gets anxious when he’s not in control, and bless his stingy heart, he softens and lessens the waterfall of candy on Rhett’s body._

_“We have a straw so he can breathe, if that’s helpful," Stevie’s voice kinda breaks through the focus Link has on Rhett’s face, soft and lilting. He looks up, watching them bring a straw to Rhett. He tries not to dwell on how scared Rhett looks and how grateful he looks when he gets the straw in his mouth._

_-He looked that scared too, when he buried Link alive in that coffin those so many years ago. When they had finally unearthed Link and he had shaken the dirt off of him Rhett had tugged him close in an uncharacteristic show of affection. Link had soaked it up, relishing in the comfort of Rhett’s sent and solid body. Rhett had pulled back, still clutching Link but face pale, babbling some nonsense of how you’re so brave Link, I dunno how you did that, I could never, oh my gosh-_

_“I’m still alive,” Rhett’s muffled voice comes through the mountain of candy on him._

_“I wasn’t really asking that question,” Link says to the camera, flashing his prettiest smile as he gauges how long they can drag this out before Rhett officially freaks_. 

Are you still alive Rhett? Can you be? For me? Just this once I am actually begging for one of your dumb practical jokes that I always throw a fit over and pretend to hate but I don’t because they make you laugh and I love when you laugh so can you just stop this crap and get out of the fucking hole-

_“Are you breathing?” Link asks when Rhett is quiet for longer than makes him altogether comfortable._

_“No.” Rhett sounds scared now, the words clipped and short._

_“You’re holding your breath?” Link let’s the concern bleed into his question now, not caring about the camera, the crew. Just Rhett._

_“No, yeah no, I’m, I'm okay.”_

_Rhett’s voice hits a pitch that Link has only heard a few times in his life, and he decides to call it, and helps Rhett sit up and breathe_. 

Another shovel full of dirt lands on the wooden box-

_Wooden. Rhett would love that.-_

-and it tightens Link's throat right along with it. Air feels like water now, and he’s out right about to panic, the thought of Rhett cramped and stuck beneath tons of dirt and worms sending his heart rate racing and he’s nauseous now, the saliva pooling in his throat and he’s about to cry, to scream, to make them stop, _please stop he’s scared_ -

And then.

No fucking way.

Now Link was certain that the double whammy of head shots his forehead had taken in the last week were really showing their pretty faces because as clear as day, Rhett was standing directly across from his own open grave.

_You’re hallucinating._ His brain helpfully supplied.

And Link knew that, because Rhett looked exactly the way he had the last time Link laid eyes on him. And he was just, standing there. Just ever so casually staring directly at Link, hair loose on his shoulders and the same white Mythical t-shirt straining across his biceps like there was nothing wrong. 

Link honest to god thought his chest was going to explode with how hard and fast his heart rate shot up. 

Rhett doesn’t look at him for a second, just stands there with his arms crossed, staring down impassively at the faceless men lowering his own body into the earth. Then, he looks up, and his bright green eyes catch the sunlight as they meet Link’s.

_Chill out_. Rhett always had this ability to speak to him with just facial ticks, minute expressions that only Link would be able to pick up on. 

_  
Like seeing yourself in a mirror._

Link is still reeling, but his face reacts on instinct, his brain still an hour behind. He raised his eyebrows and lets his mouth contract. 

_How can I? You’re not even supposed to be here._

Rhett shakes his head, tossing his hair over his shoulder and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, eyes flitting to where Jessie is still crying. _Not in front of them? Please?_

Link gets it, he does, so as much as it pains him to do, he shrugs, halfhearted and stilted, eyes dropping to Rhett’s checkered vans in a submissive move. _Sure, man_.

He’s still kinda tripping, and then realizes that he’s probably suffering acute heatstroke because he’s listening to the non verbal cues of someone who died a week ago.

When he looks back up, the casket is buried, and Rhett is gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again out_of_nowhere for being the best human to have ever humaned.


End file.
